


October Halloween challenge

by BlazeRiddle



Category: Other - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, challenge! :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeRiddle/pseuds/BlazeRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Halloween challenge I ran into on Tumblr. I mean, why not?<br/>Every chapter is a different ficlet, with stuff from different fandoms.</p><p>(Every even number is OC, every odd number is Johnlock)<br/>((discontinued))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall Leaves

_Johnlock_

The army doctor could still remember that first moment. To others, it had seemed like nothing special, and it wasn't, not if you believed the tabloids. After all, according to the papers, they'd been shagging for the better part of their acquaintance.

It had been right after a trying case, the kind where the mad detective would yell at the suspect and bullets would fly. Though normally the small pieces of metal missed, one had gotten awfully close to the doctor's head, and the man had fallen down on the leaf-covered ground. It wasn't much later that the ruckus was over with and the doctor stood, letting the brown bits of crushed leaf fall off him.

"It's a maple tree." The voice rumbled behind him. John turned before looking up at the branches overhead. He now recognised the yellowish brown leaves.

"That's nice." He looked at the detective, only to find the man studying him. There was something odd about his stare.

"Sherlock-?"

Suddenly, the doctor found himself enveloped in Bellstaff coat and Consulting Detective. The man held him tight, pressing his nose against the doctor's hair and breathing in his smell.

"I'm glad the bullet missed you." He heard whispered somewhere above his head.

The doctor wrapped his arms around a slender back.

"Me too."

 **  
**And there they stood, under the big maple tree as it shed its coat, the sign of a new season dawning, the omen of a new era.


	2. Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit from the universe of one of my original works :)

_ Mickinna _

He finds her on the roof, staring at the sky. Smiling at her now predictable quirks, he climbs out of his window and sits down next to her.

"I saw a crow today." She whispers, her voice not quite steady. "One of his eyes was blind, but still it looked at me."

He smiles, thinking he knows what brought her to this place. "He always looks over you. I'm sure of it."

She glances at him for just a moment before crumbling and falling against him, her face buried in his coat.

"I miss him." She manages between sobs. He places his arms around her, pressing her close and rocking her on the rhythm of her tears. He looks past her, down at the ground, where tiny red flowers are visible in the moonlight, marking that one place.

"I know." He whispers, his own throat closing up.

 


	3. Pumpkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Johnlock! :)

_Johnlock_

John rushed home, nearly running past the pedestrians as he made his way from the Underground to his front door. He'd forgotten the date, the horrifying truth only made known to him by an overly-enthusiastic co-worker. Luckily, he'd managed to leave work early. His mind sadly drawn back to the unfortunate events of that day, exactly a year ago now.

He'd come home to an awful smell, something terrible brewing in the kitchen and black slime dripping from various surfaces - including John's chair. The skull was, for some reason, wearing a black shiny party hat. He'd yelled until his flatmate had emerged from his cavern, dressed in an impeccable black suit, skin seeming even paler than usual. As the madman smiled, John realised what was going on; his canines were shining brightly, longer than usual and obviously well-made fakes. Of course, Halloween was the one holiday Sherlock celebrated gladly each year.

This year would be no different, John thought. He'd come home to the place burning down, or Sherlock passed out from fumes... though the prospect of CPR didn't seem too bad to the doctor. Even with the increased touches since _that_ hug, they hadn't done more than that. But mostly, the doctor feared for his friend's life - and his own sanity.

So it was a _great_ surprise when he opened the front door and was greeted by a lovely smell - vanilla, it seemed, and cinnamon and log wood and spices. He moved up the stairs cautiously and opened the door, wary for what awful thing could smell so good- and his jaw dropped.

There was a cosy fire crackling in the fireplace, the entire room bathing in a flickering, orange-red light -provided by dozens upon dozens of candles, all but one standing in artfully decorated pumpkins from various sizes. The one other candles was one of the dripping kind, attached to the top of the skull by its warm wax. In the middle of it all was Sherlock, straightening up from lighting the last one and looking at the doctor.

"You're home early." He observed, something odd in his voice. John entered the flat, looking around. There were candles in the kitchen, too.

"Pumpkins?" He asked, pleasantly surprised that is was just the candles burning. Sherlock studied him.

"You-" The detective swallowed. "You like it?"

John turned at the uncertainty in his friend's voice and smiled brightly. "It sure as hell's better than last year." He smirked and Sherlock looked extremely relieved.

"Good."


	4. Treats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickinna. More original work. :)

_Mickinna_

Though she'd lived in the country for quite a while now, there were still some things she didn't understand about England. Guy Fawkes was one thing, Halloween another. Normally, she was in France in the week preceding November Fifth, mourning, but this year, she had stayed in London because she needed to take care of a few things. Of course, not many knew, or realised, it would be her first Halloween.

 

Mickael set up the bowls of candy around the ballroom before checking the time. Only an hour left before the party started, and he still needed to change. As he looked up, his best friend came into the room, scales around his eyes as he was already half-transformed into his Halloween persona.

"We have a minor issue."

Mike frowned at his friend. "What is it?"

Daniel bit his lip, a sign he was in desperate need of a cigarette. "I heard a ruckus, but Dutchy wasn't answering when I knocked on her door. It's locked, too."

Mike swallowed. "Lead the way, maestro."

The door was locked indeed, but it was nothing Mike couldn't fix with a few flicks of his wrist. He signalled Dan to stay back and slipped inside, clicking the door closed behind him and looking around the room. He didn't see her, but he sensed her, so he walked in and looked around, and found her behind the bed, on the floor, unconscious. He willed himself to be calm and kneeled at her side, checking her pulse. As he lifted her a bit more upright, he felt her come to. Soon after, she was blinking up at him.

"What the bloody heck, Ann." He stated. "Dan heard you fall. Why was your door locked?" His voice was, like always, kind and soft, but filled with concern. She frowned.

"I was going to change, and I... light-headed, I think. Passed out."

"Why?" Mike felt his eyebrows move up his face. She blushed, averted her eyes.

"Low blood sugar." She mumbled. He sighed, helped her up.

"We'll some real food into you tonight." He promised. "But for now..." He took out some of the sweets he had held back and offered a toffee. "Lots and lots of sugar will have to suffice."

She smirked at him. "Whatever." But she unwrapped the sweet and popped it between her lips.


	5. Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnlock!!

_Johnlock_

_Salt._ The prick had switched the sugar for _salt_. No doubt it was some sort of payback for something he did, but it ruined his morning tea and apparently the madman still hadn't learned _not to mess with the first morning tea_. He would get him back for this. Pouring the beverage down the drain, he contemplates the experiment brewing on the table. Should he-? No, that would be too cruel. Sherlock had spent at least three day on this one. But then his eye fell on the Sharpie Sherlock used to write down quick notes, and an evil plan formed...

 

"John!" The doctor looked up from his newspaper and found the detective staring down at him. "What the Hell did you do to Yorick?" Sherlock was waving the skull in front of him. It was sporting a big moustache and lines around the eyes imitating glasses. The doctor quirked an eyebrow.

"You named the skull _Yorick_?" He tried to deflect the matter. Sherlock looked affronted.

"You gave him a moustache!"

John frowned. "Well, you made me put salt in my morning tea!"

"That's what this is about?" Sherlock slumped in his chair, contemplating his inanimate friend with a thoughtful stare. "You didn't have to punish Yorrick for it." He frowned. "Can you even get it off?"

John rolled his eyes and smirked. "Just use alcoholic wipes, Sherlock."


	6. 6. Mask

_Mickinna_

"I look absolutely ridiculous." Mickael scowled at his mirror image as Ann stuck the two bolts to his head. "Can’t I just… be a vampire, or something? I like being a vampire."

She laughed. “With your expensive suits and brilliant teeth, I’m sure. The whole point is low-budget costumes.” She used just a hint of wax to mess up his hair beyond the point of artful.

"I hate you." He grumbled. "You’re terrible. I want Dan as my stylist."

She smiled. “If I had a dollar one of you said he wanted the other, you both would be gay instead just one of you, and I’d be richer than the both of our queens.”

"Doesn’t your country have a king nowadays?" Mike frowned, seeing if he could crack the make-up, wiggling his eyebrows dance on his face.

"Stop that." She smiled at him. "Why do you come along, if you hate not being posh so much? I’m just trying to educate you in normal life."

He turned as she moved to the wardrobe and pulled her closer by her belt, so she was standing between his legs. “I don’t feel comfortable not wearing the quality make-up people usually place on me. But it’s nice going out with you. Speaking of…” He smirked up at her. “Your costume?”

She mock-frowned. “I was going to change as your the glue for the bolts set, but now I’m not so sure.” She teased. He quirked an eyebrow.

"You could always change here…" He offered. She rolled her eyes.

"Cut the cheek or I’ll use superglue on those bolts next time." She offered him a smile, turned and took some clothes from the wardrobe to the bathroom.

"Oh." Mike stood at her entrance. "Is that… Did you use a paper plate and a beanie?" She nodded, showing off the Catwoman mask she’d made. He tentatively touched the points, then let his eyes roam over the rest of her. A black pair of skinny jeans, a tight, long-sleeved black shirt, fake leather gloves, trainers. A perfect budget catwoman suit, and tight-fitting enough to momentarily take his breath away. The black mask just finished it all, making her bright eyes sparkle even brighter.

"Okay I get the low-budget thing now." He bent down and pressed a kiss on her cheekbone. "You look wonderful."

She smirked. “‘Just’ wonderful?”

He chuckled, pressed another kiss a bit closer to her mouth. “Amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise some of this can be confusing if you don't know my original story... :$  
> So real quick: Ann is a Dutch girl/woman (depending on the timeline, I think she's late teen-aged in these ficlets) who transforms into a cat at full moon. She met Mickael and his (gay) best friend Daniel in a special High School for really rich people, which she attended with a scholarship. Before that, she had a mentor, Corneille, who helped her cope with her powers, but he was murdered on November fifth a long time ago.  
> I hope it makes sense. :$


	7. 7. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnlock!

_Johnlock_

How the hell they ended up here, John didn’t know, but he could only be glad. Here he was, snuggled ( _laying,_ Sherlock would have insisted, not  _snuggling_ ) against his best friend (flatmate, boyfriend? Whatever.  _Partner._ ) while they were staring up at the night sky. The stars twinkling overhead almost made up for the discomfort of being outside on an October night with nothing more than two thin blankets and a Bellstaff to warm them. He shivered lightly and felt Sherlock’s arm tighten around his shoulders. He tried not to focus on it, tried not to get lost in the sense of  _romance_. He was almost positive Sherlock wouldn’t like it.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" His detective asked, looking at the sky. John looked up at him, at the pale skin reflecting the light of the moon, the cheekbones casting shadows over the lower parts of his cheeks, the eyes reflecting the millions of tiny lights.

"Very."

The detective looked down. “you’re not even looking.” John smiled up at him and pressed a kiss on his jaw. Sherlock blinked in confusion.

"I was."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have noticed, every odd number is Johnlock, so if you're here for that, just read the odd numbers :)


	8. 8. Black cat

_Mickinna_

There was an explosion. Mickael dropped his pen, staining the paper he was writing his essay on, and gazed out the window. Smoke was coming from the fields. He sighed. This was why his father had wanted the laboratory _away_ from the house. He got up and went to see if anyone died.

 

"What did you do this ti- Bloody Bugger!" As he entered the small building, he saw the effects of the explosion. Most of the lab equipment was blown to smithereens and the usually pristine white of the walls and floor was an ashy black. As if he was in some sort of cartoon and someone had fired some TNT.

Even more like a cartoon character was the genius/idiot behind it all. She was standing there, for some reason fully transformed, pouting at him with two broken test tubes in her hand. She was _completely black-haired_. She very much looked the mad cartoon scientist. He crossed his arms and resisted leaning against the doorframe. He wondered if he could get whatever was now coaled against the walls out of his shirt.

"Did all of _that_ come out of those tubes?" She nodded, still pouting. "What happened?"

She shrugged. "Failed experiment." She looked around. "I should write this down, but..." she lifted a lump of ashes, and it fell apart in her hands. "My paper obliverated."

"Obliterated." He corrected. "Explain it to _me_ , then? My memory's fine, I could dictate it to James later." He tilted his head, she nodded.

"I've been trying to find a method so I can transform on will, without the full moon. I nearly had the right formula... And then something went wrong and everything exploded, and here we are. Apparently you can't mix formula G and Y."

He smiled. "Noted. But what happened to you?"

She frowned. "What do you-" She looked down at herself. "Oh." As she looked up at him, her tail swayed happily from side to side and she was grinning from ear to ear. "It worked!"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't want to cross paths with you."

"What do you mean?" She frowned. He gestured at her body.

"You're a black cat."

"Is that a British thing or- oh. Halloween."

"Yeah." He dared to lean against the doorframe. "Halloween, superstitions, that kind of stuff. Say, how badly does that stuff stain?"

She rubbed a hand over her arm. "Barely. Why?"

"I think you should take a bath or something. Doesn't relaxing usually make the transformation less bad?"

She nodded thoughtfully and moved his way. "Yeah..." She didn't object as he placed a hand on her shoulder to lead her back to the house. "Maybe if I get pampered enough, I change back."

He chuckled. "Sure, babe." He closed the door behind him, already planning on how to replace everything. "Anything you want."


	9. 9. Candles

_Johnlock_

It was all Sherlock’s fault. That’s what John told himself as he huddled in his coat on the couch. He had reason to fume at the detective, even as the man was staining his expensive pants with coal by lighting a fire, sitting on the floor at the fireplace. Fuming was good. Fuming kept him at least a little warm.

It had been Sherlock’s fault. It had been Sherlock’s tea (that John had made) that had been flung to the wall in a fit of rage (That John had provoked, and  _not_ on accident) that had hit the central heating system. Both men had been extremely bored, John deciding to poke at Sherlock a bit - by playing stupid. The detective had gotten furious eventually, had taken up his cup, aimed at John - then turned and threw it at the wall. That there was more going on than just tea on the wallpaper was quickly made obvious by a spark, the flicker of the lights, and a total power down for two minutes or so. When the lights came back on, the heating was out.

On any other day, it wouldn’t have mattered, but today just happened to be one of the rare cold-as-fuck autumn days. John had been fuming ever since, while Sherlock had set to make a fire in silence.

Long, warm fingers pressed a cup of steaming hot tea in his. He looked up at his flatmate, couldn’t hold the glare any longer.

"I’m sorry, Sherlock."

For once the man didn’t elaborate on the statement. He simply turned to the kitchen and started rummaging through drawers. “Mrs Hudson keeps candles around.” He said, returning with a handful of them, placing them on the coffee table. He quickly lid them and took his coat from the rack. “It might be better if we not use the TV until someone’s taken a good look at the wiring.”

John nodded, somehow feeling the warmth of the candles. Or maybe it was the fire. Anyway, it was pleasant.

Sherlock had sat down on the sofa and was now sprawling out on it.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Body heat." The detective draped the long coat over them both. John shrugged. The man had a point.

They spent the rest of the night laying close together on the sofa, under the couch, both using the cold as an excuse, as the candles flickered on the table.


	10. 10. Arachnid

**arach·nid**

  _ **noun**_  \ə-ˈrak-nəd, -ˌnid\

: a kind of animal that has eight legs and a body formed of two parts

 **:**  any of a class (Arachnida) of arthropods comprising chiefly terrestrial invertebrates, including the spiders, scorpions, mites, and ticks, and having a segmented body divided into two regions of which the anterior bears four pairs of legs but no antennae.

_Mickinna_

"You’re a  _lunatic_!” Mickael sat on the table, trying to take up as few space as possible, and glared at the woman crawling around on the ground. “Snakes I can  _maybe_ get, they’re big and - I don’t know, cuddly, sometimes? But at least they’re accepted as pets. But  _spiders_?”

"They’re not mine, I borrowed them from a friend." She answered absentmindedly, glancing up for a second. "You know they can climb, right? You’re not safe there."

Mickael stood, his face more pale than usual. “ _"They?!_ Ann!!”

"They, yes." She straightened herself. "A black widow and three scorpions. Mostly harmless, unless you sit on them -ah." In one fluid movement, she jumped up on the table and picked something from the back of his shoulder. Mike turned to see what it was - and he wished he didn’t. It was tiny, squirming, and she held it at the tail. A scorpion. He huffed a breath, somewhere between a scared exhalation and a laugh.

"Well, that’s one." He managed. She smirked.

"Scared, Thompson?"

He huffed and shook his head. “I’d rather have the snakes back.”


	11. 11. Gravestone

**Beware for Post-Reichenbach feels. I saw no way around it. Mary doesn’t exist, though, and except from some few untended wounds, things seem to be okay at Baker Street.**

_Johnlock_

"Why?" The doctor stood, lost, in the middle of the ruckus, staring at a point before him but seeing nothing, noticing nothing of the police officers coming and going around him, nothing of the suspects being taken away, nothing of the throbbing of his hand where his knuckles were bruised from impact with an assailant’s face.

It had been an open and shut case. Sherlock and he had chased two men through the city, onto the graveyard, and before John could realise where to exactly, one of them had lunged at Sherlock and it had taken the ex-army man only a few minutes to neutralise them.

As the police arrived, his eyes had fallen on a nearby gravestone, clean, shiny black marble with a name engraved with simple letters. He didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to come anywhere near it ever again, but he found himself unable to look away, unable to move, frozen in place by the simple words on the stone and the pressing feeling in his chest. He couldn’t breathe, something dark in his chest expanded, pressing the air out of his lungs and pressing forcefully behind his eyes, making them burn with tears. Nothing but the overwhelming, seemingly fresh agony flooding his system as he stood there.

Someone touched him, placed a hand on his shoulder, wrapped him into an embrace from behind, pressed bodily warmth to his back. It was enough to pull him back into his body.

"I’m sorry." The detective rested his chin on the back of his head, staring at the gravestone. John leaned back into the embrace.

"We went over this, Sherlock." He sighed. "You’re back. We’re fine. We should let it go."

"But you’re not." The detective squeezed him a bit tighter, and John didn’t have to look around to know that the Yarders were gone. He had no idea for how long he had stood there. "You’re not  _fine_. You’re not letting it go.” The words were accompanied by a small brush of lips as he whispered them to his ear.

"I am." He assured his companion. "Most of the time, I’m fine. I’m great. It’s just…" He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his tears not to fall. "I didn’t expect it to be still here." His words were choked off, lost in suppressed tears.

"John Watson." There was a small kiss at his ear. "I told you once I wasn’t a hero, and there were times people didn’t even think I was human. There were times even I doubted it. But… you are the best man and the most human human being I have ever known, and thanks to you, I have become a better person than anyone ever thought I could. You believed in me no matter what I said, no matter what everyone else said, even when I was gone. Before you, I was so alone, and I owe you so much, and no matter what happens, I will always try to come back to you." John was crying silently, now, and even Sherlock’s eyes were wet. He leaned forward and kissed the wet cheeks before wiping the tears away with his thumb.

"You listened." The doctor choked out. Sherlock just smiled.

"Come on." The detective wrapped a hand around the shorter man’s  shoulders. "I think we can both use a cup of tea."


	12. 12. Bones

_Mickinna_

"Everything all right?" Mike asked as he entered the mostly-sterile room, already searching for a surgical mask and a pair of gloves - and maybe a bucket. The object of his endless fascination was standing at a metal table, charred remains of something else splayed out in front of her. He turned away from the sight.

"Thought you preferred them alive." He picked up a bottle of antiseptic gel and examined it, desperately trying not to look back as he heard her move.

"I do." She placed something metally down on the table. "But the guy died suspiciously and Doc’s asked me to take a look at it." There was a rustle of fabric and another clang. "Okay, the coast is clear. No dead body, you can turn around." There was a hint of amusement in her voice, but they both knew there were valid reasons she was a doctor and he tried to stay away from dead bodies as much as possible. He smiled and turned.

"You sure everything is all right? You were gone early this morning. Usually you get called away for more… pressing matters." He glanced at the bulge under the white sheet. "He’s not going anywhere."

She shrugged. “He’s a burn victim, I’m an expert.” She turned, moved as if to remove the sheet, but didn’t. “He was found dead in a ditch somewhere. Was in such a bad shape that Doc called to ask if it was me, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t do it.”

Mike nodded, already bracing himself for the inevitable course of this conversation. “Could it be  _him_?” He asked, moving his hands to the edge of the sheet. “Possibly trying to frame you?”

"Possible." She frowned down at it. "It’s no ordinary fire, at least. This man was obliterated, by something very hot."

"Metal fire?" Mike asked. "Metal needs a few thousand degrees to melt." He wasn’t into sciences much, but there were things he’d picked up on in his life. It was hard not to, sometimes.

"Maybe. That rules  _him_ out, though. Temperatures like that would short-circuit him.”

Mike saw the tired lines under her eyes, the testament of a chronic insomniac intensified, and knew that if he didn’t diffuse the situation she’d be out here all night working on the mysterious John Doe.

"Maybe it was you." He noted, moving closer and capturing her between himself and the table. "With your bright personality."

She sighed. “Here? There’s a dead body behind me.”

"He won’t tell." He pressed a small kiss to her temple. "Besides, it might help me with my necrophobia. Positive associations, and all."

She smiled, but leaned up to let him steal a kiss. “Nope.” She gently pushed him away. “Go get us some coffee. By the time you’re back, I should be done for the day. We can go to  _Morte_.”

He nodded, pretending to be put off, but glad he got a night with her.”Sure. Just… Decontaminate yourself, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morte is a fictional Italian restaurant loosely based on Angelo's. :)


	13. 13. Spirit

_Johnlock_

"Come on, not one?" John asked as they entered the apartment. " _The Lion king_?  _Bambi_? Not even  _snow White_?” He threw his coat on the coat rack and paced to his laptop while Sherlock entered at a more calm pace, placing his Belstaff in its place before speaking.

"John, though I appreciate your knowledge of popular culture from time to time, I fear this is going to be the same as the time Anderson talked about that Cameron guy."

"He’s the prime minister." John fired up his laptop and then went to make tea. "It doesn’t matter. I’m going to educate you, anyway." He searched a website and clicked a link. "Place it somewhere convenient, I’ll make the tea."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “You are serious.”

John nodded. “There are things even you need to see.”

*

"Well, that was… strangely ridiculous."

"It’s not. It’s touching."

"A story about a horse. It is in no way touching."

John huffed and got up from the couch, stretching barely-used muscles. “You’re a monster.” He yawned. “Don’t stay up too long, okay? Your body needs to rest.”

As the doctor moved to the stairs, he looked back, only to find his friends looking through the list of recommended films and clicking what looked like  _The road to El Dorado_. He smiled before moving up to his bed.


	14. 14. Orange

_Mickinna_

"I hate you both with every fibre of my body." Ann glared icy daggers at her friends, but both ignored her. Daniel just smirked and adjusted the band of fabric covering her shoulder.

"You look fine." He assured her. "The colour brings out your... Nationality."

"I will kill you both and whomever made this monstrosity." She looked down at herself, at the bright orange fabric falling around her body in chiffon cascades. "I look like a pumpkin."

"Don't worry." Mike walked to the dressing wardrobe and pulled out a purple plaid suit. "In retaliation, he's wearing this."

"I somehow doubt that'll look bad on him." She sat down on the bed and sighed. "Seriously guys, I look..." Her hands rested on her stomach, a clear sign of a usually underfed body trying to store whatever extra nutrients it got. She didn't finish her sentence. Mike sighed.

"Dan, go and change, please." He handed over the suit and the slender one left, closing the door behind him softly. Mike said down next to the girl and pulled her into his arms.

"You're beautiful."

"Stop saying that." She tried to pull away, but he held her close, he tugged her head in the hollow beneath his chin.

"One of those days, hmm?" She rubbed her face against his throat, inhaling shakily; it was all the confirmation he needed.

"You don't have to go. We can stay here and watch the telly and not be around people. Or you could spend the evening working on your laptop. No one would mind if you missed this one."

"You would." She snuggled a bit closer. "You say you won't, but you will. I can't just leave you guys to deal with everything alone."

Mike barely suppressed a chuckle. "It's only a party. Barely one, even, more like a social gathering. Despite what we look like, Dan and I are quite extrovert. We can take this." He was leaving out the part where he needed his focus on the people, not on her, worrying about her mental state. She didn't have to know, and it would only make things worse.

"You really wouldn't-"

"Nah." He loosened his grip on the girl a bit and looked down at her worried face. "Just say what you need. We'll make it so."

She shrugged. "Just... not having to be around people helps." She leaned back on the bed and yawned. "This... this is good."

"Aside from the dress." Mike smiled at her. She smiled back and nodded.

"Yeah. Aside from the dress."


End file.
